


Safe House

by inb4invert



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Blow Jobs, Bodyguard, Bonding, Don't copy to another site, Emotional Sex, Guns, Hand Feeding, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Knotting, M/M, Men Crying, Past Abuse, Protection, Protective Original Percival Graves, Protectiveness, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-14 18:40:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18482092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inb4invert/pseuds/inb4invert
Summary: They hired me in a hot minute as soon as somebody tried to take the kid. The Barebone widow and her attack dog of a lawyer on speakerphone, grilling me likeIwas the threat.





	Safe House

**Author's Note:**

> First off, I'm just... I'm so sorry for all this. 
> 
> There's a lot of filth coming. 
> 
> Graves is around 40 here, and Credence is 19. 
> 
> Mary Lou and Senator Shaw are pushing for a prison reform program that will essentially take in-person visitation rights away from incarcerated folks, if you're wondering what that's all about in the background of this story.
> 
> I feel like it might serve as some kind of explanation, but I'm an active Dom in the BDSM community and one of my primary styles/roles is Primal. I feel like that comes out a lot while writing a/b/o. 
> 
> I'm gay, I'm turning 40 soon, my upbringing and family history are all military. I have a history of abuse. Idk, I just feel like there's a lot of myself in these two characters. If anybody wants to talk about that, if this story makes you feel some kind of way, by all means comment or come yell at me on my twitter under the same name.

They hired me in a hot minute as soon as somebody tried to take the kid. The Barebone widow and her attack dog of a lawyer on speakerphone, grilling me like _I_ was the threat.  
The kind of people who've made a life's work out of throwing weight--they don't like to have to ask for help, especially not _my_ kind of help. But somebody was threatening to steal away her bundle of joy, and there's no way she was trusting it to the cops when her money can get her the best. Looked like her money was good for pissing people off, too. Money usually has that way about it. Especially when what you're doing with it is anywhere close to what that sick bitch had going on with Senator Shaw.

I'd seen plenty of Mary Lou Barebone on the news before she’d ever called me. A pinch-faced little woman in a serviceable dress, always smiling into the camera as though it hurt her a bit to do it. She was a self-styled philanthropist, pious as a saint and wealthy as sin, but how she liked to use her charitable donations told its own story. Some--let's say a good too many--Christians tend to go heavy on the judgement and a little lighter on the “love thy neighbour,” and she definitely fit that bill.

I could almost believe the panic in her voice when she told me someone had already made the attempt to grab her son and failed. It had happened somewhere on the grounds of the university, where I was meant to collect him and bring him straight home.

The other two, the girls, they were away at school in Europe--another fine thing money can do for you when having kids around looks good but you don't want to have to actually care for them yourself. Both of them had already been pegged as omegas, so they were safe under lock and key at one of those special places for that sort of thing. The boy, on the other hand, was a standard beta and therefore deemed safe enough to keep in New York as the man of the household. Figures. Still, I was happy enough to see what her money could do for _me_ , and I had nothing against him. So I agreed to the job.

 

~~~

 

It was windy as hell and starting to rain when I drove out in the Jeep to retrieve him. I made the trip in silence, no music, just the rhythmic sound of the wipers and the odd slash of rain tossed against the windshield with that rushing _tic tic tic_ like a handful of pebbles. Sounded like sand. Funny how rain could still make me think of the desert somehow, but it did. That was the kind of mood I was in by the time I got to the Barebone kid. A little tense, maybe, ready for action.

They'd given me a photo of the boy and I'd spent a few minutes with it before starting the ignition. Apparently, all three of the Barebone children were adopted and it was clear he was no relation. There was something frail about him, almost haunted in the pale face and dark eyes staring out through the screen of my phone, and more than a little sad. It wasn't a happy life, being one of the Barebone kids, that much was obvious, but this one had drawn the short straw out of the three and it showed.

When I pulled up to the school's main entrance, he was there standing right out in the open on the front steps, and I cursed. He was taller than I'd expected, buttoned up to the collar and standing stiff as a soldier in the stinging rain. He had his backpack slung over one slim shoulder and I watched as he reached up to brush at his eye and tuck a wet curl behind his ear with a pale hand. A little tremor shook its way down my spine at the sight and for some reason I didn't question it beyond the adrenaline of the assignment. The boy was standing alone in a storm waiting for me to come and take him before someone else could, and it felt like he was defying the odds. Maybe he just wanted to feel that his life was his own thing to risk before passing from one hand to another. Either way, I wasn't happy.

I got out of the Jeep and marched up the steps towards him, watching the relief travel through him in rapid stages. First his eyes, bright and frozen with fear, took me in and something that looked like _thank god_ took root there. Next his face got the message, softening with a pained sort of upwards twist to his eyebrows, the kind of melting release you see right before someone gives over to crying, only the tears didn't come. I thought of one of those old paintings of the saints, agonized and pleading skyward for an answer, and I wondered just what else he'd been through beyond the single afternoon that had brought me to him. That look spoke volumes. This one had been needing protection for a long, long time.

The face sent out a signal fire and the shoulders sagged a little, a movement that carried straight to his knees so by the time I was stood next to him, he was reaching for me. I braced him at the shoulder with my hand and took the backpack from him and slung it over my own. I'd been meaning to chew him out over the foolishness of waiting outside for me, but something in his face took the wind out of it. All I said was “Graves," and he just nodded like he couldn't agree more.

“You can't be standing out here like this," I told him, "let's get you in the Jeep."

He nodded again and came with me, my hand on his shoulder guiding him the whole way.

 

~~~

 

We didn't talk much on the drive to the Barebone estate, but somehow I could feel him in the passenger seat next to me in a way that didn't require a lot of words. Some people have a way of broadcasting even when they think they're keeping it hidden and I didn't imagine that made life easy for him at home. He sat with his back straight, palms flat against the tops of his thighs in a manner that felt carefully practiced. Credence had developed a fine art out of _no sudden movements_ , and I'd seen that about a million times before.

After a little while, the hand closest to me started to curl, turned on its side and sliding closer to the far edge of his leg until it was nearly palm-up next to me, relaxed. I had the stray urge to reach out and take it, a sudden thought like a free radical bouncing through my brain, and I shook it off. The Jeep was humid with our mingled breath and the rain drying off his damp clothes, the air steamy and close around us. I'd been doing this job a long time, but somehow the responsibility of protecting him settled itself in me with a weight to it, something about it feeling almost personal. Maybe it was the way he held himself so still with only that one hand giving any sign of an internal life. Whatever it was, he was my charge now and we were going to be spending a lot of time together. It was inevitable that we were going to know each other before this whole thing was through.

Something like a little chill started him shivering and he lost the fight at playing statue briefly, glancing over to me with a furtive, lost expression. The shakes starting up, right on time. It was better that he let them, rather than hanging onto some pretence at composure, especially alone with me. There was no risk in letting me see the truth.

“Hey, it's gonna be ok," I said. I gave into my previous urge and touched his wrist, just a small reassurance. He stilled again instantly, but it was different now, something more soothed. I would've lifted my hand away if it weren't for that, but we were almost there, so I kept it in place and we drove the rest of the way like that in silence--my palm against his pulse and him calming beneath it.

That calm started fading a bit when we pulled up to the Barebone estate and somebody buzzed us in. The rain above and the gravel beneath us both rattled the Jeep with constant sound and I could feel him tensing, growing a little frantic maybe, but he was hiding it well. Home shouldn't make somebody feel that way, especially not after a shock like the one he'd just had. And he didn't want me to know, or he was just too used to keeping his own unhappiness a secret. I was surprised at how much the idea pissed me off, now that we were there and the prospect of handing him over for the night was upon us. I'd been hired to _guard_ him, not sell him out to his mother with a bad review. I parked the Jeep and made a decision right there.

He swallowed hard and blinked a few times when I turned in my seat to face him, the engine still ticking down and the rain thundering above our heads. It was almost nice in there, just me and him, and I hated the thought of opening the doors to our private little bubble, letting the bullshit of the outside world creep in.

“I'm going in there with you," I told him, "and I'm going to advise that you not stay here until this thing's been sorted out. I'm going to advise this very firmly, you understand?”

He took a deep breath and it came back out shaky. His eyes closed for a long moment and I saw the tension run out of him like a bloodletting. I gave him a minute to let the words sink in, and when he opened his eyes he looked at me like he was seeing the horizon after nearly a lifetime at sea.

“Yes," he said. “Ok, yes."

I got out and came around to his side with the rain pelting down hard. Then I opened the passenger door and kept it open while I shrugged off my coat and held it out for him to duck under. He looked at me a little uncertainly but I just nodded for him to go ahead, so he stepped down out of the Jeep, steadying himself with his hands on my shoulders. For a moment we just stood like that, his head bowed underneath the coat I was holding while the rain came down my face and soaked through to the skin. There was an understanding there between us that felt like going into battle and I wanted to tell him I was sorry about the way things had gone for him up until then. Instead I just let him rest his weight into me for another minute, to get his bearings before the walk up the rest of the drive.

 

~~~

 

The Barebone estate was a big white mansion with Grecian columns at the front entrance just like all the others of similar description I'd been hired to hang around in over the years. The only real variation here being the addition of a private chapel towards the back. If I hadn't already decided I was taking Credence with me, the grounds themselves would've convinced me it was necessary. It was too secluded, full of green space and surrounding wooded areas perfect for covert maneuvering. Taking it in properly, it was satisfying to know that he was going to be safer with me, in every sense.

The lawyer was there to greet us at the door, grim faced and professionally composed. He spared me a terse nod and welcomed Credence home with only slightly more warmth before we were being led down the hall to a pastel sitting room off to the left. I spotted Shaw standing at the far window first, and then Mary Lou was coming forward from her chair towards Credence with a pained look that didn't meet her eyes. Her war room, then.

Credence and I stood dripping at the threshold, him a little less than me on account of the coat he was still clutching in his hands with the grip of death. The widow Barebone stopped just shy of embracing him as she took in the state of his damp clothes, choosing instead to place her hands on either side of his face.

“ _Cre_ dence," she said softly, and there was a note of something almost like disappointment to her voice. Credence himself was stiff as a board again under her touch and I knew without question that if the rest of us weren't there she'd be blaming him for all the hassle, for the necessity and expense of hiring me. Or maybe just for breathing. Whatever it was, she'd be blaming him and she'd be doing it emphatically. It occurred to me that he might not have been better off getting abducted, but not by much. I stepped a little closer to him and when she glanced my way I simply nodded a silent greeting.

“I'm _ok_ , ma," Credence said, but all I heard was _I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause a fuss. I won't do it again._

She frowned a little sadly ( _this isn't over_ ) and turned to me. “I trust everything went alright getting here, besides the rain?” She gave a pointed look at the slow-growing puddle on the polished floor and back to my face.

“Everything went fine," I answered. “Your son is impeccably polite and well-behaved."

She looked him over once again, weighing the praise and measuring it against a whole host of hidden judgements. Evidently pleased with the outcome, she smiled. “Yes. Credence is a good boy."

“Ma'am," I said, “I strongly advise that Credence not stay here at home while the police are looking into the attempted kidnapping. If he's a target, this is the only other place they'd try besides the school and, well… it could be dangerous for the rest of the household. I suggest heightened security for yourself and any guests and allow me to remove Credence from the premises for the time being.”

It was clear she hadn't thought of that, the potential for harm to herself in the event of a second attempt. While that chance was slim, it was what she needed to hear in order to keep out of the way and let me do what was best for Credence.

She nodded slowly, considering. “Yes, I think you might be right in that case. But where would you take him?”

Credence turned his eyes to me with a searching look, as though he was eager to hear the answer himself. Or maybe he was just eager to know that there was _another place_ , and I was going to be taking him to it. A place that was mine.

“I have a safe house set up for just such occasions and I'd be happy to have him there with me for a few days until this is all done. I should add that this doesn't in any way affect my fees. Like I said, I'd be happy to.”

Mary Lou looked to her lawyer where he watched from a nearby armchair and he nodded. “It would be the wise thing to do in this case," he said.

"Alright, Credence,” she pronounced. "Get changed and gather up your things for a few days.”

“Yes, ma."

He went to the bottom of the winding staircase and paused with a questioning look in my direction.

“I'm afraid it's best I not let him out of my sight, ma'am,” I told her, and she gestured towards the stairs with a resigned face.

As he went up the staircase, I followed a step behind. I would have maybe felt triumphant at how easily things had been arranged if I wasn't so anxious simply to get him out of that place. Suddenly it seemed imperative, more even than the job I'd been hired to do, and I wasn't lying to her when I said I didn't want to let him out of my sight.

I checked his room before letting him stay there alone and even then the closed door was a barrier between us I didn't trust. Leaning my head against the jamb, I heard the shuffling sounds inside as he moved about collecting his things and changing his wet clothes. The thought of him, bare and vulnerable in a windowed room had me tense enough to curl my hand around the doorknob, testing its silent give. I was still soaked, water dripping down off my tilted head, my knuckles, pooling at my feet to run beneath the door towards him where I couldn't see. I heard him sigh through the wood and an answering shudder gripped me. We were getting out of here, I was getting him out of here.

 

~~~

 

We both needed to eat, so I took him to the McDonald's drive through. Not exactly the type of classy fare I'm sure Credence was more accustomed to, but that was the point. When I suggested it, rattling off a list of possible options while we drove away from the mansion, his eyes sparked with a flash of interest quickly suppressed and he confessed he'd never actually been before. So, McDonald's it was.

I showed him a digital menu on my phone ahead of time, to let him peruse the options so that he wouldn't feel pressured when the time came. Credence didn't strike me as the type to enjoy going into even mildly new situations unprepared, and he'd had a rough day. Even scanning the menu on my phone seemed to overwhelm him, and after a few minutes of staring at the screen in silence I asked if he'd like some informed help with the decision.

Again, his relief was palpable. He wanted the help, that much was obvious, but he didn't want to have to ask for it and risk causing irritation. I could picture him going through an endless cycle of such dilemmas all day: ask for help and be reprimanded for needing it, or take the initiative and the resulting punishment if it turned out to be the wrong move. It was a toss-up that was always rigged to lose no matter what, and I'd have put good money down that it was one of Mary Lou's favourite games. No one ends up terrified of screwing up something so banal as picking out a McDeal unless every choice has been wrong since day one. The end result of course, being that Credence most certainly believed it was all just _him_. Just his own ineptitude at making simple choices.

I tested the theory and told him what _I_ always order, and instantly he nodded and said he'd be happy with the same. Said he _trusted_ my preference.  
That ended up with the two of us parked in the lot behind the restaurant, two Big Mac Meals and one strawberry sundae spread out between us in a grease-laden feast. As soon as the heavy scent filled the Jeep, his stomach growled and he looked stricken until I smiled about it.

“That's a good sign," I said, pulling a box from the bag and handing it over.

“It is?" he asked. He looked up at me a little astonished, as if I'd just told him some hidden fact of the universe.

“Yeah, absolutely. Hungry after a bad shock? Absolutely. You must have a hardy constitution.”

He looked down at the burger in his lap with curiosity and I caught what looked like the ghost of a smile toying at the corners of his mouth. He was recovering _properly_. He'd done something right and been told so.

“Go on, take a bite. See what you think."

I watched him lift it to his lips and felt a thrill entirely out of proportion to the situation, thinking that I had the sole honour of introducing him to one of life's guiltiest indulgences.

He did as I said, biting down, and almost instantly his eyes slid shut. One hand came up to shield his mouth delicately as he chewed, but as soon as he'd swallowed he was huffing out an astonished little laugh.

He nodded. “It's _really_ good," he said.

"There you go, I told you.” I grinned and dug into the bag again.

We ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, Credence stealing shy little glances my way every now and then as if to monitor my continuing approval. It fascinated me to watch him eat, sampling each new taste cautiously like he wasn't sure the food couldn't bite him back at first. He reminded me of a cat, the kind that runs and hides when someone unknown comes to the house, needing to be carefully coaxed out again.  
But the way he seemed to bloom under the coaxing, colour slowly coming back into his cheeks, one knee turned slightly towards me--it must've made me bold. I couldn't resist, it just didn't seem right to bring him there without showing him the best part.

“Now," I began, “you might think this is a little crazy at first, but I promise it's something people do and there's a good reason for it.”

Wide eyes turned to me, but there was only curiosity there, maybe a little anticipation. That warmed me in a way I couldn't quite do anything but fumble with, so I just scraped one of my fries against the edge of the soft serve and held it up to his mouth. He looked at it, then right at me and it seemed then as if something crucial was hanging on the moment. I watched his lips part slowly and his eyes flutter a few times and then he was leaning forward, taking it gently into his mouth. The world narrowed down to the heat of his breath against my fingertips and the tiny frown of pleasure creasing his brow.

“Oh," he said, looking up at me like he didn't understand what made it so good.

“Yeah?" I asked, smiling a little, waiting to hear his verdict.

He nodded, smiling back, and it touched his eyes this time like light moving across dark water.

“Here." I picked another fry and started the process over again. “Try another one."

 

~~~

 

Evening was falling when we got to the safe house. I'd set it up a couple of years earlier, a sort of combination warehouse/loft that came in handy on more occasions than I could count. Everything reinforced, all under heavy surveillance. If Credence hadn't felt entirely safe in my company alone, he wouldn't have anything to worry about in there.  
The garage door shuttered down behind us as we pulled in, and a sense of something unknown came down along with it. We'd grown easier in each other's company over the afternoon, and that wasn't lost--but it seemed as though there was a new sort of tension settling in with the prospect of two strangers sharing such close quarters indefinitely.

I hit the lights and the heat, and showed Credence the space to let him familiarize himself with where he'd be living for at least the next few days. He wrapped his arms around himself, following me here and there and taking in the open expanse of the warehouse before turning wide eyes on me.

“Are you going to be here with me the whole time, too?" he asked.

I nodded, a little concerned at first that he might not _want_ that to be the case before I saw his posture smooth out a little.

“Yeah, yeah of course," I said. “That's the whole idea, right? I'm protecting you now.”

That almost-smile again, a tentative secret thing. I wondered how many people got to see that one, if any.

“Listen, I've got to get out of this wet gear, why don't you settle in on the couch? There's lots to watch on TV, or there's books or WiFi, whatever you want, ok?”

He made his way to the couch and I heard the TV click on as I crossed the room to the closet where I keep spare clothes and other equipment, peeling the wet t-shirt off as I went. I was glad to get out of all that, and with the heat kicking on it felt like actually coming home at the end of a long day. Even better was stripping out of the Kevlar vest underneath, grown itchy and heavy after a few hours under the damp. I dropped them both at my feet and stretched. The sound of the dog tags clinking as I scratched at the side of my neck was a familiar, comfortable thing, and so was the faint laugh track rising up out of the TV behind me.

“Anything good on?" I called back over my shoulder, fumbling through the drawers for what I wanted and trying to towel off the high fade I'd never quite managed to style out of. I turned to look when he didn't answer, rising up from a half-crouch with the navy tank clutched in my hand.

He wasn't looking at the TV, barely seemed aware of it--just staring straight past, eyes fixed on me and high spots of colour burning across his cheeks. I reminded myself he wasn't used to the closeness of the barracks, the sight of skin--but rather than embarrassment he held himself with the hyper-focus of a predator, or maybe even stunned prey. I watched him lick his lips once and swallow, for a moment unable to pull my eyes away from the motion in his throat as he lifted his chin a little higher, sinking back into the cushions of the couch. His nostrils flared and I realized I was holding onto the fabric of the shirt in my fist like I wanted it dead.

“Credence?" I asked, wondering if the stress of the day wasn't getting to us both.

He blinked like coming up out of a fugue and shook his head slightly, glancing back to the TV still happily chattering on.

“Um, I think it's all just reruns," he said.

 

~~~

 

I spent about an hour sitting at the long table disassembling and cleaning my firearms. It was a routine I easily fell back on when I didn't know quite what to do with myself, taking comfort in the smells and small mechanical sounds that never failed to ground me.  
For a while, Credence studied one of the texts he'd brought from home, periodically answering my questions about what he was reading, and asking his own about the task I'd given myself. I wondered then if he'd ever been around many alphas before, if at all.

He seemed fascinated by the guns, which came as no surprise, watching me with his head curiously tilted for long pauses in between the pages of his book. It felt as though he was growing more and more at ease with me and, in turn, with himself, exploring the unusual freedom of simply asking whatever came to mind and even sharing the odd opinion or two. We talked about the Marine Corps, and the various tours of duty I'd done. He told me things about his life at school--art history and theology, a few things about home--much less on that last count.

The more he loosened up, the more conflicted I found myself. Not despite his slow-building comfort but maybe even a little because of it. His eyes on me grew steadily unguarded, warmer somehow, his soulful face and elegant hands increasingly expressive, until I wanted to stop what I was doing and just _look_.

Keeping my eyes on task became less of a simple thing, listening to him describe his favourite paintings as though he didn't easily outstrip them all just sitting there beneath the afghan on my old couch. Something was becoming painfully obvious: Credence Barebone was _beautiful_.  
It wasn't as though I hadn't noticed from the very first, it was right there to be seen and I'm observant, I have to be. But noticing is one thing. _Feeling_ it is entirely another. He was beautiful and I wanted him and that wasn't okay. That wasn't the job.

Eventually the lateness of the hour and the strain of the day took its toll, leaving him limp and fading with the book falling slowly out of his grip. I let him drift a while, if only to steal a few long looks undetected, just watching the rise and fall of his chest. That hand again--the one I'd watched slowly opening like a pale bloom next to me in the Jeep--hung extended off the edge of the couch, palm open. His slim wrist was lifted slightly upwards, tilted bare to the air, and I could see the blue veins under his thin white skin, fragile as bone china. I kept drawing back to that moment earlier, his open stare and the sound of the TV the only thing between us. The delicate arch of his throat softly swallowing.

I put the guns and everything else away quietly. Then I shook him gently awake and he blinked up at me drowsy and soft with a little smile. He didn't startle, just shifted into wakefulness maybe a little amused at himself for having fallen asleep. I gave his shoulder a light squeeze and lifted my hand away.

“Come, on. Let's get some sleep," I said.

He got himself together in the bathroom and I prepared a set of cots close enough to each other that I could keep an eye on him and he'd sleep reassured.

When he came back out, he'd traded his white button up and black dress pants for a set of striped pajamas, slightly loose on his slim frame. His hair was still mussed from his brief nap on the couch and his top was a little askew, exposing the pronounced hollow of his collarbone. He was innocent and sweet as a child on Christmas morning, rubbing at one dark sleepy eye with a curled fist. It seemed strange to me that I should be able to smell the mint of his toothpaste so strongly, hypervigilance moving over into heightened senses.

I gestured to the beds and he chose one, promptly kneeling down at its side with hands folded in prayer. He glanced over at me with an awkward look, an embarrassment there so common to the religious in the presence of the secular, as though asking for permission to go ahead with his strange private ritual. As if to say _I'm sorry, I know it's backwards. Please indulge me_.

I didn't want him feeling strange with me about any part of himself and his life, and besides, it wasn't my place. I'd seen plenty of men pray in war, and although I wasn't prone to it myself I held no judgement there. He had God, and I had my guns.

“Go ahead," I said, smiling a little to encourage him, "don't mind me."

I lay back with my arms behind my head, and after a minute, I gave into temptation, turning to watch him at his prayer. His eyes were closed, face serene and untroubled, lips moving faintly with the words. I regretted then not having joined him and resolved myself to make amends the next time.

 

~~~

 

I woke in the night from troubled dreams with a sense of something urgent pulling me up out of the darkness. At first I just lay there silent, panicky and disoriented, blinking against the half-light. There was a feeling of having forgotten something desperately important and then I heard the low moan from the cot next to me and was up out of the bed like a shot. _Credence_.

He was tossing in his sleep, his face twisted into a frown that looked nearly anguished, brows drawn down tight. His dark hair was stuck damp against his sweating skin, spread like an oil slick over the pillow he clutched in hands like claws. I ran my palm over his forehead and his skin was hot to the touch. As I lifted it, my hand came away wet and I didn't have time to question it when I started to shake. He was burning up.

“Credence, Credence honey, you need to get up.”

I shook him lightly, lifting his head up heavy and listless in my hands.

“Credence… _shit_ , Credence. Wake up, come on.”

He opened his eyes and I watched them turn from confusion to bright clarity the instant he saw me. “ _Graves_ ," he moaned and it sounded like about nineteen different kinds of longing and relief--one for every year of his life, like he was only just _now_ being rescued.  
His hands lifted towards my face, trembling, fluttering uncertainly on the air between us. I just reached underneath him and hoisted him up into my arms to carry to the bathroom.

“You've got a fever, Credence," I said. His face was burrowed against my neck and the heat came off his skin like opening the door to an oven.

When I shouldered into the room and flipped the switch, we blinked in unison, nocturnal beasts squinting under the sudden brightness of the bathroom light. I set him down on the floor and started filling the tub with water that was mostly cold, unsure if it was the food or maybe getting caught out in the rain that had got him so suddenly sick. When I glanced down, there was a flush of ruddy colour in his cheeks, skin splotchy with heat all the way down into his pajama top.

“ _Christ_ ," I said. “Shit." What had I done to him?

Once the tub was full, I knelt down and undid his top. The soft flannel was wet and clinging to his skin as I lifted his arms and peeled it away from him. He watched me in a sort of daze, his eyes fixed to my face black and glittering with delirium. I left his pants, to safeguard his modesty, and noticed with a frown that he was hard beneath the fabric as I lifted him into the cool water. My heart was pounding. Looking at him, I felt seconds away from crawling out of my own skin.

When he sank into the tub he arched up and drew a shuddering gasp. The flannel pants, filled with air, floated and billowed out around his long legs, doing their best to rise up to the surface.

“S'cold," he whispered, and as I leaned over the edge to cup the water onto his shivering chest with my hands, he reached dripping arms around my neck--like a siren pulling a sailor down into the depths.

“Shhhh, it's ok," I soothed, running my hands over the smooth, wet planes of his back. I brushed the hair away from his face and neck and he whimpered, clinging tighter. His erection was straining, tenting up pink and livid, every contour visible now through the thin, saturated flannel.  
Turning my face into the crook of his neck to avoid the sight, I breathed--and immediately let out a rumbling groan, the scent turning my blood to liquid fire before I even understood.

Credence pressed up against me even harder, half lifting out of the water and moaning little broken guttural sounds in animal response. The tepid water churned and sloshed against the sides of the tub as his hips began to rock, and already the wet, rhythmic slaps had me verging on frantic.

“Oh god, Credence, you're going into heat," I breathed.

"I _can't_ , I'm a beta,” he answered back, and then he licked a stripe up the side of my neck and I shuddered hard.

Panting, I huffed and scented along his throat, teeth scraping lightly over the tender flesh just below his ear. The spot was Eden itself, that soft little hollow pulsing with life under my mouth. I pressed my tongue there, feeling his heartbeat against it and a spurt of ejaculate ebbed from my cock with eager force. The chirping, coaxing sound Credence made in return forced a growl from low in my chest.

Everything--my life, my purpose, the chain of unspoken moments between us--all clicked into place with unquestionable _rightness_. He and I: a Fibonacci spiral, a perfect work of art.

“I.. I've heard of this before, Credence."

I spoke the words against the shell of his ear, telling it like a secret, unwilling to move away from him even that much. “Sometimes, omegas can present later than usual… under certain circumstances. If the conditions aren't ideal, if there's danger, or no suitable mates.”

He went suddenly rigid in my arms, something feral and ready to fight in the wound-up tension of his every muscle.

“No. _No_ ,” he said, tossing his head even as he pressed it more firmly into the curve of my neck.

“They'll… they'll take me, they'll send me away. I don't want them--I don't want _mates_ , I want _you_. I want _you_ , I want _you, I want you_.”

Now he cleaved himself to me, still grinding and fucking through the wet pants against open air, gripping at my neck as if someone might actively try tearing him away from me right there.

“Is that what you want, baby?" I asked. I sucked a dark spot into the junction of his neck and felt his purr vibrate against my mouth. “You want me? Is that why you're in heat, is that for me?”

" _Yes_." He choked the word out on a sob. “Yes, yes, yes, I want you. Graves, _please_ , don't let them, I don't want anyone else…”

I hauled him up out of the tub and pulled him down into my lap on the bathroom floor. The next moments were a blur of furtive, hungry groping--grinding our leaking cocks together through wet, clinging clothes and groaning into each other's panting mouths. Our bodies were in constant motion just rocking, seeking, _fighting_ to lock together, to _meld_.

An urgent mutual growl soon ended our anguished humping and he was up into my arms again, legs wrapped around my waist and tongue desperately plundering the heat of my mouth as I carried him back to my cot.  
He landed against the mattress with a little bounce as I placed him down, hands already tangling through my hair. He was close to losing words, and frankly, so was I--our scents told me as much. But the time for professions of love was past now. Now there was only _proof_ , only the raw bond itself.

He watched me, eyes blazing black fire and shivering out a long, low constant moan as I mouthed over the rigid column of his cock. The pants were soaking now into the bedsheets around him and I licked the wet fabric, sucked at the head and tasted his slick leaking right through.  
From his chest, a sound like a cat gearing up to fight came rattling out, rising higher to echo off the warehouse walls when I gripped the flimsy fabric and tore it open.

There it was: his sweet, glossy hole flexing pink and tender for me, open and over-ready. My cock twitched, pouring out a steady stream like a dog drooling over a proffered treat just out of reach.

I brought my mouth over the spot and growled against it, growled so low my shoulders convulsed.

 _Mine_ , it said. _You know what I'm gonna do_ , it said. _I'm gonna_ fuck _this_.

Right then his catlike wail reached a crescendo and he came untouched. Ropes of semen were still slapping down softly high over his chest as I dipped my head and had my fill of him.

Credence's slick was both salty and sweet, the depths of him slippery soft and hot enough to melt. I crooned into the cavity, sweet nonsense words just to hear his pleasured trills drift and sigh back down to me. Clenched around my curling fingers, he rocked and fucked himself down onto my hands and mouth, lifting his head to watch, to lock eyes with me while I opened him up.

“ _Hmmm baby, is that good?”_

_“Mhmmm, hunhh… uh huh. Ohhhh, ah ah uh...”_

_“Ohhh fuck, good boy. You ready? Hmm? You ready to get_ fucked?”

 _“Oh! Oh, god please_ , Graves, _please….”_

I talked him up like that, sliding my fingers in and out, feeling the orgasmic shocks clench and ripple through him.  
Those were mine. All of him, mine. Sweet juices spilled out around my knuckles, running down to his tailbone and I caught them on my tongue before they sank into the sheets like it was a game, and those were mine, too.  
I worked him until his eyes were rolling back, nearly white between his dark lashes. Until it was so desperate we were both ready to split.

I pulled my boxers to the floor with one hand and climbed up on the cot, my cock flushed and dripping between his knees. He keened to see it, arching and writhing against the sheets so wild I had to hold him down. I was going to fuck him until he was mine and there was no breaking it. I was going to fuck him until the world went away.

When I slipped the head of my cock past his rim it was so good I froze. I hadn't been prepared, I didn't know something could be so perfect. For a moment I just breathed over him, his wet heat cradling me so sweetly and his eyes on my face, luminous in the dark.  
I knew if I pushed forward, I was going to cry, lose my mind, break apart completely--until I understood that's what I was _supposed_ to do. That he was there to catch me, to take me in, all of me. I was safe.

I slid into him, slow and agonizing and a sob broke out past my clenched teeth. His hands stroked tenderly at the sides of my face, his voice soft and reverent in the closing space between us.

“ _Graves_ ," he whispered.

I drew back slowly and thrust forward again and it was just as good. His body was the shore of paradise, every curve of his skin its pale sands. Of their own accord, my hips rolled and banked against him as a sinuous wave and it broke my heart to think I'd gone so long without this. That I hadn't even _known_. I was crying and so was he and neither of us cared.

“ _Graves_ ,” he moaned again. "I've been _waiting_ for you… oh, waiting for you..."

I was going to make him cum, and I told him so. I never wanted to stop hearing him moan, gasp, _sigh_ my name.  
With his slim hips immobile in my grasp, I fucked him sweet and deep and he cried tears of pure catharsis, taking each stroke and begging for more with every one.

Another orgasm tore through him, back arched up off the bed, mouth open on a silent scream. His body gripped and clenched around me, milking at my cock like an oiled fist--so I let myself cum a little--just a few spurts to let him know what I had for him.

That brought the sound back into his throat and he moaned brokenly, chanting my name just like I'd wanted to hear.

“Oh, you feel so good, Graves... you make me feel so good, so _fucking_ good…”

Somehow over everything, hearing him swear was the thing that finally did me in.

I fell apart just like I'd feared, only I went into it joyfully--growling, shuddering, talking utter shit in a voice steadily unraveling.

“Ohhhh fuck, baby, you're gonna _get_ this knot… _hnnngggg god, you're gonna fucking get it it's yours it's yours its--”_

When it came, it rocked down my spine like lightning. My knot slipped and stretched past his rim just once before it caught and held me in a vice grip, and then I was lost in an undertow of pleasure deep as drowning.

This was undiluted ecstasy, straight from a divine source, pouring wave after wave through every single cell. This was the secret of all life--not an idea but a _feeling_ , a wholeness of being, a perfect pair joined in rapture. The broken howl I let out was barely human, a sound like something I'd never imagined being able to produce.

Credence _glowed_ beneath me, limbs wrapped pliant and sweaty around my shoulders and at my waist. As I opened my eyes, vision clearing with the ebb of my seed, I watched him lift his throat to me again, as he'd done in what seemed another lifetime, offering himself _entirely_. His gaze was serene and certain, holding mine. I wasted no time or thought, only dipped my head and bit down in that place I'd marked back on the bathroom floor, feeling him tremble and release once more between us.

“I want you inside me forever," he breathed, shifting gently against the press of my body. "Oh, I _love_ you. I've wanted you always, exactly you, only you.”

He was ethereal and holy in my arms there in the dark, someone to kill and die for, the very meaning of _meaning_.

I kissed his lips, his face, his hair. I ran my tongue hot over the bite I'd made, tasting the salt of his skin.

“I love you so much, Credence. You're safe. You're safe now. You're mine and I love you and you're safe.”

 

~~~

 

We didn't leave the warehouse for another twenty four hours, at least.

After drifting off in each other's arms for an hour or so, my first knot came down, freeing my cock to slip out from between his legs still half-hard. The flood of semen that quickly left him soaked down into the mattress enough to cause discomfort to us both. Grimacing and laughing softly, we switched clumsily to the second cot where I curled myself around his back and held him as sleep took us.

I don't know how much time passed before I woke again, sprawled out on my back, legs trembling with mounting acute pleasure.

I looked down to find Credence laying low between my legs, cheek pressed softly to the meat of my inner thigh and gazing adoringly at my now aching erection. Every few moments he lifted his head to stroke his tongue slowly up the shaft, suckling and kissing at the tip with soft, delighted moans. I couldn't call it a blow-job, it was… something more like courtship, and infinitely more arousing for it.

When he heard me groan, feeling my fingers sift through his dark curls, he set to admiring more fervently. Moving up onto his knees, he crouched over my groin to lave at my cock with his back arched, hips cocked and presenting to the room at large. The scent of his heat was heavy on the air, a wet weight inside my lungs. He hummed and sucked, cooing as though soothing a restless pet when his ministrations drew three quick pulses of cum out over my stomach.  
His heat was something we were living in, a warm and sultry cocoon, a state of being.

“I want this," he said, tracing a slim finger along the length of my cock. His pupils were blown wide, feline eyes gone black and nearly hypnotized. He dipped his fingers through the semen at my belly, promptly sucking them clean with a groan that held more bite this time. “I want this in me."

Gone was that timid boy, quivering with nerves just to choose his meal. He was all focus now. The heat had Credence hungry and vocal in his needs, and he needed _me_.

I climbed up behind him, taking his slender waist in my grip to lick and kiss at his oversensitized hole. His upper half dropped down to the mattress, kneading at the sheets with his hands and letting loose a chorus of breathy sighs.

For a while, I teased at him just to hear him growl and sob into the pillow. Slipping the head of my cock past his rim, I watched it disappear into the slippery pink opening only to draw it back out again. I did this again and again, shallow little thrusts, just little _tastes_ until he was wailing.  
Every now and then, he'd try to push back onto my cock and I'd pull away for a moment before I gave it to him again. When it seemed he was almost ready to _fight_ me, snarling and cursing like a man possessed--I pinned him at the small of his back and _fucked_.  
His hips snapped up high to take me--a tropical bloom straining in the steaming air to catch the sun--coming tight around my cock over and over with barely any pause in between, like a seizure.

Then we were knotted a second time, exhausted and panting. We spooned and dozed that way a good couple of hours, occasionally stirring against each other with sleepy smiles to kiss and touch a while before resting again.

 

~~~

 

For a day we lived this way. Sleeping and fucking. Gazing into each other's eyes and just whispering love talk against the pillow.

We showered together, his legs shaky as a newborn colt's, leaning up against the tile while I sucked him off under the warm spray. At some point I fed him, sprawled together on the kitchen tile before the coolness of the open fridge.

Every blush, every tiny gesture of his held me captive. I placed strawberries against his kiss-swollen lips and watched in fascination as they parted, delicate white canines bared.

Groaning, I licked the juices off his chin, his open mouth. Braced myself against the cupboard doors and bounced him on my cock, still pushing little morsels of fruit onto his tongue.

For a day, the safehouse echoed with nothing but soft, wet sounds and fractured moans. My name, his name. _Baby_ and _fuck_ and _yes_ and _please_. For a day we lost our goddamn minds and found each other instead.

 

~~~

 

Evening found us lying beneath the afghan on my couch, his art history text still abandoned on the coffee table next to us from the night before, as if _everything_ hadn't changed.

“My mother's going to be so furious," Credence murmured against my shoulder.

I shifted to look at his face, stroking his dark hair. “You're an adult, baby, you can do whatever you want."

He shrugged and looked a little far away for a moment. "I know. But it's not going to be good. She'll do everything she can to hurt us, and she can do a lot.”

And here it was, just like it was in the Jeep outside the mansion. Alone together with the rain pouring down and the evils of the world waiting just outside the door. I did the same thing as I did then. I made a decision.

“I know someone," I said. “Someone who can make us passports, whatever we need, really.”

He pushed up on the couch to look down at my face, eyes sparking and alive with the prospect already.

“Really? We could go away?"

“Yeah, baby. We can go anywhere we want to." I reached up and twisted a dark curl around my finger. I'd never been in love before and I'd heard that it was frightening, but in that moment I felt nothing but brave. I felt the world at our feet, stretching out before us. “Do you want that?"

“Yes," he breathed. “Yes!" And then he laughed, the sound ringing out through the rafters. “Oh my god, yes!"

I hadn't joined him in prayer, but I was happy to join him in this. I laughed with him, pulling him to me and kissing his grinning mouth.

“Looks like you're getting abducted after all," I said.

We left that night and never once looked back.


End file.
